


Juror 2 on Special Civic Duty

by Lowiiie, Luxi_Storyteller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Juror!Clarke, Lawyer!Lexa - Freeform, Sass, Snark, You know there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lowiiie/pseuds/Lowiiie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/pseuds/Luxi_Storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is summoned to jury duty, when a rude attorney smashes her Starbucks all over the front of her. She meets Octavia Blake, defendant in the murder case that Lexa is prosecuting, and Clarke just happens to be Juror number 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jury Selection: Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I had jury duty today. As I was waiting this began... Lowiie... oh poor Lowiie didn't even know what she was getting into when she opened the document. Ha Ha! I am sneaky sneaky! -Luxi

**~Lexa~**

I had to walk really really fast because of the brainless blonde who stole my parking meter. The Mini-Cooper slid into the tight spot effortlessly, where I have needed to parallel park my Audi SUV. I glared back as Ms. Sunshine stepping out and moving to the Starbucks just outside the courthouse.

It took my ten extra minutes to find a spot and get into the Starbucks. I immediately appreciated the mobile order app, that allowed me to order my 4 pump hazelnut, nonfat, no-foam, latte. Niylah smiled when I went straight to the bar, smugly staring down the blonde who still stood in line. I took a moment to say good morning to my regular barista. The girl was nice, and I wouldn't lie I had been considering asking her to dinner. I was hesitant though because what if she didn't like me, or I ended up being bored it would ruin my favorite morning stop.  

“How’s it going, Lex?” _Like that. Don’t shorten my already short name._ But I smiled at her.

I mean, I didn’t need to be rude. I was rude to the last dude, and ended up with a scalded tongue so bad, I actually went to the hospital to get it checked out. Luckily after a not so kind call to the manager, I walked in to find Niylah behind the bar.

“Jury selection day,” I answered, feeling that enough was being said.

She laughed over the iced cup she was holding, and waved it a little, “Someone even more precise than you. Although, when you use to order a particular temp, I was slightly concerned that you had lost your soul or something.”

Snorting lightly, I said, “The kid before you burned me pretty badly.”

“Clarke, I have your iced venti five pump whole milk lite ice chai,” Niylah called, and the blonde bounced forward seizing her cup. I still hated her but when she stabbed the straw into the lid and took her first drink, I swear I could feel my core tighten in sold desire.

Her lips curled at the corners, as her eyes rolled back a little. “Oh god,” she whispered, before popping back to attention and smiling at Niylah. “It’s perfect,” she explained, and then added, “Thank you so much.”

I watched her turn away. I couldn’t help my eyes follow her leave, in her, fuck why were those black pants so fitted. A soft laugher pulled up my attention, and I saw the kid that I was prosecuting entering with her older brother in tow.

“Come on, Bell, if the Deadly Commander is going to send me to jail at least you can buy me a fucking frappuccino before-” her words were cut off, though when her eyes met mine. “Sorry,” she mouthed, her head ducking down.

I grabbed my briefcase and shot a quick nod to Niylah. “See you at lunch Commander,” and she giggled, but I didn’t want her to encourage the girl on trial for murder. I did not wish to see the kid because even though she seemed genuine when she said she was innocent, it didn't change that the District Attorney’s office had chosen to prosecute the teen, as well as have her tried as an adult instead of a minor.

I pushed out of the door and didn’t realize how close to the door the blonde parking spot stealer was standing with her phone in hand. I felt my case side swipe her, but I wouldn't lie part of me didn't care. I mean, she stole my parking spot and slowed me down so I had to see the kid before I could fully put on my mask.

**~Clarke~**

Annoyed wasn’t strong enough of a word to even describe how frustrating the morning had been. The fact I had to leave little Orion curled up on my pillow when the sun was still sleeping to dress in “business casual attire” for my fucking jury summons. No, even that didn't come close to the ice bath of chai tea latte that I received after the stoic bitch slammed her briefcase into me as she pushed out of the Starbucks. She didn't even turn around, let alone apologize; she just left me standing there, with a busted cup in one hand as she made her way through the doors labeled attorneys only.

Looking down I saw that my shirt was completely drenched. The white scrunched material that deflected from the slight roundness to my figure was now a creamy tan and completely see through.

I looked up at the sky as the wind cut into a little deeper, and tried to get it together. So what that was my last $5 for coffee this week. So what that this shirt was probably ruined. So what that I had to give up a full day's pay to show up here. I couldn’t help the frustration building, as I called after the bitch, “I wasn’t just standing here and you didn’t just hit me!”

A hand was on me then and I looked over to see a teenager. Her long chocolate hair down and greenish blue eyes clouded with concern. “You okay, miss?” She asked, voice a little husky but still kind.

I nodded and looked down again. Snapping my eyes closed as a particularly cold breeze bit through my shirt. _No, I am not okay._ I breathed in. Counting down, I opened them and the girl was digging through her large bag.

“Octavia, we need to go,” an older boy said to her and tugged at her arm. She swatted him away though and continued to dig through the bag. Her arm shot out and I flinched a little. When I opened my eyes I saw the girl holding out a thigh blue thermal shirt to me.

She bit her lip, and provided, “it's not as fancy as the one you have on but… I mean, it's dry.”

I held out my hand, “I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” she said pushing the shirt into my hand. Octavia didn't have any longer, as the boy pulled her harder this time. I couldn’t hear what he told her. All I could do was call out, “Thank you!”

The girl turned and waved, her smile warming. So I guess today wasn’t all that bad. I slipped back into the Starbucks, and when I got to the counter the woman at the bar smiled. She pushed a venti drink towards me and said, “Lexa’s a great lawyer but she gets in a zone.”

I was so confused, and I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Who?”

The blonde pointed at my shirt and said, “The one that crushed your drink. Here I made you another.”

I smiled then. I mean yeah lawyer Lexa was a bitch but everyone else has actually been extremely giving and kind.

Holding up the shirt, I answered, “I’m just going to run and change really fast.” I paused for a minute and looked down at the chalkboard name tag, “Thank you, Niylah.” The woman nodded and returned to her work.

~~~~~

They made me throw out the last fourth of my drink when they called my name and handed me a laminated pink placard with a huge “2” printed on it and the word juror just above it.

_Two! What the hell?_

Looking around I saw, I saw sixty-five other individuals being handed numbers. Yeah, my last name was Griffin but the older lady with last name Azeda just got the number sixty. Whoever got to choose these things was seriously confused if they thought I was giving up days of work to listen to a system that failed me and so many of my students.

It took twenty minutes from getting the number, to having people try and order themselves numerically. I was not sure why standing in line by your number was so fucking complicated. _Seriously, people get it together!_

A small woman with dark hair and eyes stood in middle of the semicircle and announced, “Hello, I am Judge Wallace's bailiff Maya, and I am going to lead you into the courtroom. Jurors one through fourteen will be seated in the juror’s box and then everyone else will be seated in audience area,” she paused scanning the room. I followed her eyes and saw the number of annoyed expressions plastered across so many pale faces. _Diversity my ass, I think._

The woman held up her hands, and smiled, “Great, well let’s get going.” She asked sixty-five and sixty-four to hold the doors for the line, and we made our way into the courtroom.

Everyone was standing when we entered, including the older white haired man in the black robes. I smiled weakly as my eyes found the girl from outside of Starbucks, and immediately my face was hot as I took in the large man standing tall in a suit alongside of her. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ well at least now I had a definite reason for getting out of here.

As my eyes scanned the rest of the courtroom, my eyes locked on the tall brunette. My teeth ground, as I saw her eyebrows raise in my direction. I had to walk next to her on my way up to the juror’s box. I heard her exhale a quiet, “Shit!” as I passed.

“No, shit,” I muttered, and her gasp was not subtle. At least she was aware that she was a bitch. Maybe this would be a little fun. I mean, it was an experience, that’s for sure.

**~Lexa~**

_No! No! No!_

This couldn’t be happening. The blonde couldn't be juror number two. No way was the chick I hit with my briefcase walking into this courtroom. No way was she glaring at me. As I looked her over, I swore she was wearing a different shirt this morning.

_Wasn’t it white? Like scrunched up and white. Why did she change?_

As she got closer, I inhaled the slightest spice coated in a soothing vanilla, I got lost only long enough for my eyes to fall to the wet spot running down her legs. I took a deep breath, and it just slipped out.

“Shit.” Just one word.

I didn’t know if she meant for me to hear it, and my breath caught. I didn’t get a chance to say another word, as she passed by quickly and her perfume was diffused by something stronger that smelled too much like Raid for my taste from an older woman.

It took several minutes for all of the people to enter, before Judge Wallace gave us permission to be seated. I sat quickly, and leaned over to Indra. I grabbed the juror list from her hands, and quickly flipped through the profiles. I saw the star marked in the corner of the page, signalling that originally when I flipped through this list, I wanted this juror. I scratched through the star, and Indra turned a cold eye to me.

“Problem?” she asked.

I shook my head and whispered, “I may have hit this woman with a briefcase earlier, and I may by the look of her pants and the fact that she changed her clothes spilled her coffee all over her this morning.” Indra huffed in annoyance, and my eyes followed hers.

Judge Wallace was entertaining a long winded speech from a middle aged man claiming all the reasons he shouldn’t have to be here. The blonde though had leaned her body completely backwards and thrown her head back in boredom. I wanted to laugh at the display but Indra was scratching through her name repeatedly, as though by some voodoo power the blonde would fall to the ground cupping her throat while she bled out.

“No,” Indra said.

I glanced over the sheet again.

Name: Clarke Griffin.

Occupation: Behavioral Therapist

Name of Employer: Ark Institute for Behavioral Child and Teen Recovery.

Something pulled in my chest, and I was not even sure that she would be a good fit for my case. She worked most likely with troubled teens, and Octavia Blake was a poster child for troubled teens. I shook my head again, knowing that we would need to get rid of her, if I had a chance of convicting the kid. My chest tightened and I looked over at the tiny brunette mostly covered by Lincoln Woods. Her eyes were large and she was looking over the courtroom. I knew that by taking this case, I wasn’t only doing my job, but I was fast tracking my way to District Attorney. Something was eating at me though.

The kid was on trial for murder, and there was no doubt that she had killed her step-father. What kept eating at me was how the girl refused to explain why she had killed him. Refusing to acknowledge what had led up to the death of the middle aged prison guard, that had married the mother of the girl. In fact there was little information regarding the girl, and that was what troubled me the most.

Indra’s gruff voice growled, “Focus, Commander.”

I hated that nickname. Like not a little, but with every fiber of my being. Every time it was being said I felt a roll of frustration boil under me. I didn’t become a lawyer to be known as a woman with an unquenchable bloodlust. I just wanted to defend the people, and put people away that fought against the system that protected them from each other’s stupidity.

The old man’s voice requested then, “Is there anyone that feels they are incapable of being biased and acting within their civil duty.”

I swore the number two pink placard could not have entered the air quick enough. I looked over at the blonde bouncing slightly in her seat, begging to be dismissed from the day. A part of me wanted to prolong her stay just so I had some amusement throughout the selection process.

Judge Wallace called out the numbers in order as he went around the courtroom. Indra was quickly marking next to each name as they tried to get dismissed. It was always good to know who really didn’t want to be there. As he finished the number, he thanked all of the potential jurors for their patience as he explained, “I am going to have a momentary conference with the attorneys.”

I watched the blonde huff back into her seat, this time leaning forward on her knees. Fighting my urge to laugh at her, I proceeded up to the bench. Wallace was quiet, as the loud white noise cut in over the speaker blocking out their voices from the rest of the room occupants.

Lincoln spoke first, when he stated, “I would like to try and keep juror 2, 8, 28, and 49.”

Wallace’s eyes shifted to me, and I stated, “Depending on their reasoning for dismissal, I would not be opposed to having juror 2 and 28 stay, but I see no reason to dismiss jurors 8, 49, and 63.”

Indra kicked me slightly, but I gave her a glare. Lincoln even looked a little shocked though, as his said, “ _You_ are okay with the rolling eyes number 2? She’s a behavior therapist for troubled teens.”

I stared at him, giving no hint of emotion. _Who the hell was he to question me? Some probate county attorney._

Not willing to back down from a challenge, I stated again, “I am curious to know her reason for her bias, because I feel she will bring the impartiality that our legal system promises.” Indra kicked me again, and I swore I would cut that bitch with my heel if she did it again.

Judge Wallace nodded to us, and we headed back to the tables. Clarke’s head was rolling back and forth over the back of the seat. She really didn’t seem to have a single care for propriety, and for some reason I thought my mother would lose her shit over this woman at the dinner table. As quickly as the thought came though, I snapped back.

Wallace was calling numbers and telling them they were more than welcome to leave. People were moving from the room, and when I looked over the emptying jury box, I saw icey blue eyes glaring at me. It was almost painful, and I knew if she had darts in her eyes I would be dead right now.

When the movement ceased, the blonde’s gaze hadn’t shifted. When Wallace started to speak again, she still hadn’t shifted her gaze from me. She only moved when Wallace called her number, “Juror 2, could you please explain to the court your reasoning for claiming biased.”

The blonde perked up, and I was not sure what I was expecting but I definitely was not expecting the words that fell from her mouth so eloquently, that she almost had me believing in them.

“Your honor, thank you for taking the time to address my concerns regarding my impartiality of my personal ideologies. My first concern is that my work with youth would pose a significant problem for me seeing this young woman who was kind enough to loan me a shirt this morning after one of the prosecutors struck me with her briefcase and dumped my coffee all over the front of me without so much as looking back to apologize. At this point in time the only person that needs rehabilitation in the form of etiquette is the state’s prosecutor.”

Her hand waved at me, and I saw a slight flush gathering in her cheeks. It was nothing though compared to the embarrassment at being called out in front of everyone on my prior behavior.

“However, despite my interactions with both sides, I feel that my bias lies in how the judicial branch of government has become a punishment system without rehabilitation,” her eyes shift to Octavia, as she explains, “Maybe I just believe too much in the good in people, or am a twisted anarchist… but I do not feel that I could properly sit on this jury and claim to judge Ms. Blake’s actions. I know that I have personally made many mistakes in my life, and while I strongly believe in accountability, this court does not offer her accountability. No, it offers only the court’s illusion of safety for society by claiming to determine the defendant's guilt and then lock her away in a manner that we deem justifiable for all beings non-human. Basically, for everyone else in the room, I am stating I don’t believe in the system of incarceration, nor do I feel that it would cause Ms. Blake to pay her debt to society.”

She didn’t even take a breath, as she continued, “After all the debt being paid for her incarceration would be paid by myself, Lexa the pushy prosecutor, the girl’s brother, and even yourself, Judge. For it is our funds from our work that pays for keeping her locked in a cage. This is against my moral compass; however, if you feel that reasoning is unacceptable, then I would also like to state again that I work with troubled teens, and since this trial is looking to be months long, I don’t feel that by having me here would benefit society. After all, I am a civil worker that provides actual rehabilitation therapies to youth, which are far more worth everyone’s time than me sitting in this very uncomfortable chair, staring at several very uncomfortable people.”

And she was done.

She was done, and no one was really sure how to react. I mean… well… I was just really glad that Ms. Clarke Griffin didn’t decide to grow up and become a lawyer.

Judge Wallace was knocking on the bench as several of the other jurors in the room began to clap for the now flushed blonde. “Order please.” His face turned back to the blonde, and he smiled kindly. “Juror 2, I am sorry that our Commander seems to have assaulted you this morning. Would you like to press charges for assault?”

The blonde chuckled, and I shouldn’t but I totally checked out her boobs bouncing lightly. That was until I heard her say, “No, I’m just going to drive around until I see her stuff car and key it.”

My mouth dropped open, and my head snapped to the other side of the court room, when I heard the teen on trial snort out in laughter. The girl had a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were clearly apologetic as she met my steady glare.

Wallace was also laughing gently, and he held up his hand. “I see that having you on this jury may cause you many conflicts as I feel you have effectively flustered the State’s prosecutor. I hereby dismiss you on this day, as well as call a thirty minute recess. I feel that should give you Ms. Trikru an adequate amount of time to replace Juror 2’s coffee so your car may maintain its pristine paint job.”

My face flushed, and I wouldn’t lie I wished Indra’s voodoo magic would have worked earlier. I began to shuffle my papers together but Ms. Griffin had found her place in front of me. She looked down and I thought for a second maybe she felt bad.

“You did dump my drink all over me, but the girl, Niylah I think her name was, said you were normally a nice person. And… she already gave me a new drink,” she shifted her weight and hefted a heavy looking black coach bag up her shoulder. “I wasn’t… I mean I’m not going to key your car, and… yeah, I know I jacked your spot.”

_I want to be angry at you!_ I screamed internally. But it was futile, I mean she literally just lived by everything she claimed to stand for. Who could really be angry at her for that?

I flashed her my $3000 smile, and answered, “I’m sorry for hitting you, and even more sorry for not even stopping to check on you.”

She nodded, and looked over at the girl. Shaking her head, she confided, “She was a really sweet kid this morning.” Her voice broke a little, before she added, “I really hope she didn’t do what you all are ruining her life for. She will never come back from this trial.”

I didn’t even know what to say, as the solid lump formed in my throat.

Clarke didn’t wait for my response before she walked away from me. She walked away, and toward Bellamy Blake, the girl’s older brother. I watched as she fished through her bag and withdrew what looked like a business card. He took it and looked down at it as she spoke with him. His head was nodding and the younger girl gave the woman an abrupt hug. Clarke stiffened at the touch, but let the girl wrap her arms around her.

And just like that she vanished down the walkway and out the doors.

I didn’t know what to do or say, just looked down at the juror profile. Pulling out my phone, I clicked the safari app open, and typed in the woman’s name. The first hit read, “Father and Daughter Arrested for Treason.”

Well… Clarke Griffin was even more interesting than I’d initially thought.


	2. Summons

**~Lexa~**

The trial really was going as expected. Everything pointed toward the kid’s guilt after only two weeks into the trial. The bloody knife found in the basement, along with a pair of purple pajama bottoms and a white tank top also covered in blood from the victim and some from Octavia as well. 

The police had testified to responding to the Amber alert and finding the teen. He described that her attire made her seem out of place and he actually was expecting to pick her up on a drug charge. “She wore a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, but they hung off of her. Hung like she was wearing someone else’s clothes. Oh, and the pair of boots were too big for her feet.” The boots ended up being important because it was why she got caught. Pike the larger officer testified to seeing her wandering just several blocks from the house a little after midnight. When he approached her, she attempted to run. “A block and a half later, the girl tripped over her own feet.”

I moved closer to the witness and asked, “Did the defendant have any defensive wounds on her?”

Pike looked at me, stating, “She had handprint shaped bruises around her wrists, and several fingernail marks dug into her forearms.”

The evidence basically showed that Octavia not only attacked her step father, but that he attempted to fight back. There were minimal questions from Lincoln for the arresting officer, and it made a me a little nervous. LIncoln was known for his stealth. Holding very closely to a few key witnesses that have several times won him a case. 

And I would be lying if I was to say that I didn’t still feel like the teen was hiding something. The way her eyes would shy away when I looked at her. She would make eye contact with everyone, but me. If there was a chance her eyes would meet mine, her previously serene face would drop and it was almost like she was submitting. Like she knew that if someone was going to put her away it would be me.

I secretly hoped that Lincoln would put her on the witness stand. I wanted to break apart the only phrase she had said to me, “I didn’t kill him like you think I did.”

It had already been a tense day, with the officer’s testimonies on the arrest and the state of the house. Not to mention the sat of the body. There was no avoiding the fact that the girl hadn’t just stabbed the man in the back up had castrated him. The stab wounds not actually ending his life immediately, but the slow arterial bleed from his groin.  

Lincoln had her pleading not guilty, but there was no question that she was the one to stab him. No matter what they argued, she was going to jail for some form of murder… just something itched at me. Like a mosquito bite on the pinky toe that you can’t not scratch but at the same point never stops itching. Just growing more inflamed until it turned into a sore. That was what Octavia had become for me, and open sore that kept me up at night looking at the photos of the body, and they blood on her clothes. It was what took me to the house with Anya as my escort, and had me poking around. It had me questioning the basement, and why did she go tot eh basement afterwards. There were just too many unknowns. 

And the worst part was even Indra had a soft spot for the girl. I was pretty sure that Indra didn’t even like me, but she was more gentle with the girl than any defendant we had ever worked together on prosecuting. Normally, Indra followed her own private mantra of ‘blood must have blood’. But this was different. I even caught a brief moment when she smiled at the girl when the older brother escorted her to the elevator as we were leaving that day.

Indra didn’t look back at me, and probably because I had at least a dozen comments about how getting attached to a kid we were going to convict of murder was dangerous. We didn’t speak as the next elevator opened. The silence, thick and uncomfortable, caused me to flip open the first button of my shirt. 

Indra was careful, as she stated, “The girl is hiding something. She basically openly admitted to killing the man in the interrogation room. But she is too... too… good.” I listened, knowing that Indra was only verifying what I already felt within.

“What do you suggest we do?” I asked. I asked because honestly, I didn’t know. I didn’t know if it was possible to save this girl without giving up my possible promotion. Or more importantly giving up my faith in the justice system. 

Indra’s head was tall as the elevator opened, and we exited into the sleek tile and silver paneled lobby. My heels clicked against the tile floor as we walked side by side out into the sun lit evening. The air still bit through my shirt in spite of the sun shining down. 

Looking up, I saw the tiny brunette shaking hands with an all too familiar blonde. The girl’s smile was exactly what Indra had described. It was vibrant, and excited, and fake. Not in the punch someone in the tit because she’s plastic fake. No, the kind of fake that only when you have seen true despair can you really even consider the reality that people smile when they are bleeding internally with no hope of surgery to fix them. 

Watching the blonde I thought I was never going to see again, her hair moving crazily in the wind as she greeted the two Blakes. In her hands, she held out an item to the girl who glanced up to her older brother for permission. With a silent nod, she took the folded shirt. I felt like I was intruding on their moment. This moment of contentment, and I reconsidered. Maybe Octavia was not a hopeless cause. Maybe Ms. Griffin did do more rehabilitating than I could ever imagine.  

I stopped in my tracks, and Indra a few steps just past me. She looked over her shoulder, before following my eye sight to where both of my troubles laid. Indra cocked her head towards the two, and smirked, “Even your blonde is fascinated.” 

If I moved forward, I would disrupt this moment that they were having. No one wanted the blood drenched Commander disrupting the calm. No, I was who they brought in when things were too dark. I finished things in accordance with the law. 

Squinting at Indra, my stomach tightened. A knot being unrealistic for the manner in which it moved, and I wondered for a moment if something within had slithered into my abdomen and was threatening to end me by collapsing most of my vital organs. I had spent the last few weeks looking up everything I could about the Griffins. Most of the details were closed; however, the image of the blonde sobbing over her father’s coffin had haunted my already wary dreams. 

“She is not mine,” I said, but it was weak. The weakness adding ammo to Indra’s arsenal, but my power was lost as I quietly heaved for air that should be easily accessed. Quietly, and more for meant for me, I added, “She is an enigma that berated the very system that I uphold.”

Indra snorted and proceeded to walk towards the garage where she typically parked her car. She turned, stating, “The girl is seeing her.”

My face must have flushed because Indra quickly added, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Commander.” If she only knew that I wasn’t flustered or even conceiving that Ms. Griffin would pursue a relationship with a younger girl. No, I felt the heat rise up my chest. My heart beating so fast, I felt the veins pulsing in my wrists. Knowing what was coming. “The girl is a patient.”

“Why do you know that?” I asked, not honestly sure if I wanted an answer. If she told me, then it would make it true. If it was true, then once again I would face the angry blonde in the same courtroom. And this time...this time I would lay all of her weaknesses and reasons for her not being a credible witness. 

When it came, I knew I didn’t want to hear it. “She is now on the witness list. Our witness list.” And this changed everything. 

**~Clarke~**

It was a nice day, and my last two client had canceled for the day. Something about a conflict of scheduling a driver, so whatever it was it didn’t really fucking matter. What mattered was at noon I was done for the day, and I didn’t really have anywhere to be or anyone to see. 

When I got into the car, I saw the shirt folded up in my passenger’s seat. 

I had meant to give it back to Octavia when she came to her fourth appointment yesterday, but it had slipped my mind after watching her stroke the canvas with precise movements. Like she was sketching something with the finest of brushes. 

_ ~Yesterday~ _

_ The water based paint, thin tip, and her shaking hand, left many uneven lines. The soft hues of blue she chose though were relaxing. _

_ When first working with a client, I liked to let them explore the colors and paints alongside me. I didn’t want them to feel like I was watching or judging them. Just painting with them. Offering a piece of advice for brush angle, or even just brush type. But what most people didn’t know was that when youth first began to paint, they looked to give tribute to someone. They tried to paint something for someone they cared for.  _

_ Sitting back, the end of my brush gripped between my teeth, I watched the sketchy lines filled outward, creating almost like clouds of untouched canvas. Clouds in the shape of maybe a monkey. But as the figure began to come to life, the girl stepped back.  _

_ I could see the levies in her eyes threatening to collapse, and quickly her brush was covered in a darker hue of blue that was verging to fall within the shade spectrum and not the color wheel. I thought that maybe she was going to outline the figure, but her hand sliced over the canvas in a wild arch. coming back again with the same vengeful thrust.  _

_ Rarely had I ever been uncomfortable. In fact, I didn’t think I had ever ever been uncomfortable with a client. However, I knew why I had invited Octavia to come. I knew why I had told her brother I would cover her studio fees. I knew that this trial would ruin her no matter what. No matter what, she would be googled and read to be the teen that killed her step-father.  _

_ In her final thrust with the ruined brush, she punctured through the material. The sound resonated in my bones, as I knew she had done that to a body. She had struck and slashed a body in the same chaos. And I was scared.  _

_ Her paints dropped to the already speckled floor, as she curled into a squatted position holding her head. Holding her head as animalistic cries broke through her always smiling exterior.  _

_ I wanted to help. I really wanted to sooth the girl, but I was rooted in place. Terror freezing every muscle in me. Fear that if I made the wrong move, or said the wrong thing, that my flesh would tear open with the hairless brush. Knowing that I would fillet much easier than the dense canvas material. So, I stood still watching every move she made. Watching as her cries calmed, and her fingers dropped the brush on the concrete floor.  _

_ Only then did I speak, still unable to move near her. “Well, this definitely falls under abstract art.” _

_ She wiped her hands over her face, smoothing pitch like streaks up and down her eyes. When she looked at me still in my seat, she smiled weakly, and apologized, “I’m sorry. I will find a way to replace the canvas.” _

_ My head tilted, and I sucked in my bottom lip. I wanted to reassure her that the canvas was the least of my worries, but at the same point telling her I was worried about her may make her shut down when we were finally starting to see something.  _

_ Carefully, I told her, “Honestly, this may be your best piece yet.” _

_ ~~~~~ _

Looking at the shirt, I tossed the court summons on top of the pile. I had been served earlier that evening to testify as a consultant for the prosecution. The prosecution was actually planning on having me testify that my client was mentally stable when she attacked her step father. 

I knew it wasn’t true though. I also knew that I would have to tell Octavia about this. Swallowing the reality that what progress we made yesterday would then be ruined was frustrating to say the least. I mean why couldn’t Lexa fucking Trikru just back the fuck off me. Let me help this kid and give her a fighting chance. But no, the prosecutor bitch was ruthless and I realized that commander was probably a fitting term. But commander of death may be a better title, because she was out to murder what minimal opportunity this kid had for even some form of a fighting chance. 

Without anything else to do, I put the car in drive and headed against traffic towards Downtown Phoenix. I found a spot just behind the pretentious Lexus, and I cracked a few jokes that the commander was so full of herself she bought a car that was named after herself. 

When I settled outside of the Starbucks with my drink, I watched the people coming and going. Some ripping off the familiar juror sticker from their shirt. Others wiping away tears, and a few huffing in frustration. At least I wasn’t the only one that felt this place sucked the souls out of people. The tall tower of judgement looming over the flattened surroundings as little people like myself scuttled to and fro. 

I sucked down my latte that the barista brought to me, when she sat down at the patio table with me. She didn’t ask if she could sit, but the timer on her apron that she scrunched up on the table told me she had only ten minutes. 

“Jury duty again?” she asked. 

I snorted, and shook my head as I rolled the straw around with my tongue. I fought the urge to chew it flat. Sometimes, I just wanted a fucking cigarette. Like that ex someone seemed to always text when they were drunk. Letting go of the straw, I stated, “Actually, I’m hoping to catch up with the girl that loaned me the shirt from my day of civil service.” I held up the cotton material and shook it lightly. 

Niylah nodded, and then her head angled toward the courthouse doors. “There’s your girl,” she said. And a minute later, she added,”And your commander.”

I gawked at her, before turning to see Lexa exiting several strides behind the Blakes. I shifted my gaze to Octavia and Bellamy before Lexa had a chance to think I came to see her. Especially after she issued me a fucking summon that morning. I waved to the teen who seemed slightly withdrawn. 

I could tell that Bellamy was pushing for her to talk to him, which was continuously causing the girl to shut down more. I knew whatever she wasn’t saying was in part to not hurt the boy-man that seemed to follow her closely. Bellamy was already struggling with the loss of his mother, and his protective nature over the teen seemed like he was bridging on overbearing. I wanted to explain it to him, but I didn’t know how to talk to him. 

When they reached me, I smiled warmly, and wiping away any evidence of my concern. Holding up the shirt, I told Octavia, “I meant to give this to you yesterday.”

I was confused when Octavia looked to Bellamy for permission before taking the shirt. Her face showed that she was aware that Lexa had made me the enemy, but she smiled anyways. Her hand taking the shirt, before wrapping around me. It was too close, but how do I tell a kid that may be locked in a box that she couldn’t touch someone that clearly she trusted. 

When she pulled back, I withdrew back into my personal bubble. Feeling the comfortable distance made me more confident. “Well, I was hoping to catch you.”

“You’re with them now,” Bellamy practically spat at me, and I understood why he would feel betrayed. I offered to help, and now I was being called as a witness for the other side. The side led by someone he saw as an enemy. 

My head hung a little, and I shook it trying to cast away the anger I felt for the woman that was still standing a decent distance away. “I didn’t know,” I provided as an explanation, but his eyes were harsh. 

“Bell, stop being a dick. It’s not like she volunteered as tribute,” Octavia stated. Her eyes were on me, and while I should be worried about her, it was clear that her concern for me outweighed anything I had held for her.  “It’s fine Ms. Griffin,” she said trying to sooth me. “It's not like I am going to get off.” She took a deep breath and looked back to where Lexa was staring at the sky. “She’s the best. I did my research, and I know that she pretty much always wins.”

“You’re not going to prison,” her brother barked, and I felt jarred by his frustration. “You just need to tell everyone what the hell happened.”

Octavia’s eyes glassed over, and they were unfocused. She had completely disappeared within her own world. Reaching out with my sweater pulled over my hand, “O, we are going to do everything we can to support you. If there is something you are withholding then it would be ideal to share it; however, I’m not giving up on this fight.”

I watched the bluish green irises focus on me. Quietly, she said, “I don’t deserve to get away with hurting him.” Her words settled in me, and I couldn’t even respond, before Bellamy was pulling her away. 

His scolding was loud as the teen looked back to me. I wished I could help. I wished, I could only stop them and promise to protect them. Promise to protect them because we were all one in the same. I didn’t get a chance though.

I didn’t get the chance though, because Lexa was clicking by me. Her head straight pretending like she hadn’t stood back and waited for the siblings to leave. 

Whatever came over me was fierce. My blood boiling at my repeated failure to help the girl. Lexa being the main cause. “You have some fucking nerve, you know that?”

The heels stopped mid step. When she twisted, around, her face betrayed her own remorse, and my venom was neutralized. Soft eyes met mine, and her voice was soft, as she told me, “I didn’t find out until a few minutes ago.”

**~Lexa~**

I couldn’t match the anger in her voice. I couldn’t blame her for even being angry. She dedicated her life to helping teens, and we were threatening all the trust she had attempted to build. There was nothing really left to say. Nothing but the truth.

So I told her. 

I told her the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Like for the first time in my life I was the one on the other side of the rail, while she stared me down. 

“She doesn’t give us a reason not to prosecute,” I started with. Looking up at the sky, I inhaled deeply. “There’s something she is hiding. Something that I could probably get the case dismissed… but I can’t even talk to her. She won’t even look at me.”

_ It was the truth. If it was self defense, then it would be an easy case. But she used a knife, and slashed at him. The body showed minimal signs of a struggle, which meant the first strike had done some damage. But the knife… the knife was a weapon of passion not convenience. And the way removal of the penis suggested rape, but she refused to be examined. That was probably the most troubling part.  _

I swallowed and faced the blue sky found only in Clarke’s eyes. Like the girl was just reflecting the atmosphere back at me. Part of me wondered if her eyes would darken to pitch at night and sparkle tiny stars back at me. _Wait what?_ _You can’t flirt with a witness._

Trying to shake away the thoughts, I continued, “Indra summoned you.” I watched Clarke fold her arms over her chest, closing herself off,  “She wants you to tell the girl’s story. Tell the court something that will lose us this case,” I confessed. 

Clarke straightened her back, and stated, “Well, if you had waited even a week, then I probably would have had something.” She stepped forward, and I swore she was prepared to slit my throat. I swallowed thickly. “I’m not going to help you,” she stated, and I nodded. I nodded because I knew it was the truth.

Her head dropped, and I saw the defeat in her. I saw the way her anger faded, and was replaced by remorse. A remorse that made me want to know her even more.  

And before I could stop myself, I commanded, “Go to dinner with me.”

Her head immediately shot up with huge eyes, and I instantly wished I had a time tuner. I mean Hermione was an idiot, turning it to save Buckbeak but not Harry’s parents. Useless. But I needed one now, because Clarke was moving past me mumbling. I was such an idiot. I stared at the sky again, knowing that any chance I may had had if she did actually like women was now completely gone. Building up my defenses, I tried to lock myself away again.  

She turned though and she was back in my space. Too close for me not to smell that sweet vanilla again. The ghost of a memory reminding me of how passionate and intelligently she had argued her case two weeks prior. Her fire back, as she stated, “You are something else, you know that?”

_ Well, yeah. I mean I was fit as hell and I knew I was least a 9 out of 10 in bed. _ But shit, that wasn’t what she meant. And I swallowed harshly. 

“I’m… just… what the fuck is wrong with you?” The blue raged but her pupils were slightly dilated. Just enough that made me uncomfortably aroused. 

My internal monologue not helping.  _ I was not really sure. _ But I did know. I knew, because she was what was wrong with me. “You-”

And she hissed at me, “No, I am not what’s wrong with you. I am nothing to you. I am nothing like you. I-”

I threw back my head, because she was always fucking frustrating. I bit back this time. “For a therapist you are a really shitty listener.” I regretted my words and my tone, but hey it did have an affect on the conversation. 

Her growling ceased, and her eyes were narrowed at me. I raised my hands up and huffed out my own frustrated breath, which was unusual for me. Normally people didn’t get to me, because I was right. I was always right. But this… woman was exasperating. 

“You don’t even let me finish a sentence. What are you afraid of? That I may actually have something worthwhile to say?” I asked, but I held up my hand. “I withdraw my question, because honestly it doesn’t matter. It’s clear that everything I found of interest in you is not reciprocated. Don’t worry, I will tell Indra you are refusing to cooperate and I will get you off the witness list. I know Lincoln will have a field day with your past anyways.”

I didn’t see it coming because I was busy rolling my eyes. I was so busy rolling my eyes to even consider the insincerity of my words. I was too busy being an asshole that when her hand collapsed against the side of my face, my head twisted and pain broke across my cheek. 

Her spittle was flying out with each word, “How fucking dare you!” Her voice wasn’t loud but her deep tone scared the shit out of me. Well… not really shit... more arousal that was ruining my panties while the burst of pain threatened to ruin my makeup. 

I took a step back, but she stepped forward. I held up my hands, and shook my head. This was too much. Yes, I was out of line but that didn’t give her the right to smack me. She didn’t say anything, just stood still, ready, I thought, to punch me next. 

“I’m sorry…” I tried, but there wasn’t much I could do to fix what I just said. So I dug myself into probably a deeper hole. “I was curious so I googled you,” I admitted. “Your passion and the way you held yourself. It’s just…” I shook my head again. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for overstepping.”

I moved around her, and I honestly didn’t feel I ever moved to the safety of my car faster. Not bothering to say goodbye. Not paying attention to anything but getting to my car as quickly as possible.

Once safe inside, my fingers grazed over my still stinging cheek. My flesh hot to the touch, I felt my embarrassment overtaking me. I tried to swallow the tears, but I couldn’t. One escaping just as the knock on my window made me jump and swiped it away before grabbing hold of my steering wheel.

The grip on my steering wheel was forcing the blood from my fingers, and I didn’t need to turn to see that Clarke was standing at my driver’s side window. I pressed the power button that started up my engine. Briefly I considered just pulling out the spot and forcing her into oncoming traffic. I couldn’t do it though.

Releasing the steering wheel, I hit the auto-down button and waited as the window slid down. I was grateful that any sign of emotion had been angled at the passenger’s side of the car, even though I had already wiped it away.  

Her voice had lost its fight as she handed me a card through the open window. I was careful as I took it from her hand. “I was… that was wrong,” she stated slightly shaky. 

I just closed my eyes willing her to leave me. Leave me so I could make the call and pull her from the witness list, giving her her wish. Her wish to never see me again. She hadn’t said it, but I felt it. Card or no card, I ruined any chance with her. 

“You are something else,” she admitted. “I was upset, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you once maybe all of this is over.”  _ Wait what? _

I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t and not show any sign of hurt. So I just stared straight ahead with my mask firmly in place. She took my silence for what it was, and before long, she uttered one last, “I’m sorry again lawyer Lexa in the Lexus.” And she turned away from me. 

I sat in my car until I watched the Mini-Cooper take off too fast for my taste down the street. I didn’t know why but my first thought was,  _ when we go out, I’m driving to the restaurant.  _

I checked my mirror and pulled out of my spot fighting with myself. Fighting whether or not Clarke Griffin actually just agreed to go out with me. Agreed to a dinner with me, and if she would see it as a date. 


	3. Hostile Witness

**~Lexa~**

I have never hated Indra more than in this moment. I was staring down at my notes knowing that those blue eyes were glaring at me. Her eyes staring into me for not following through on our agreement. Our agreement that my fucking first date depended on.

Yeah, I fucking hated Indra right now. I turned and looked at my co-counsel, who I swore she was hiding a smile. Huffing out loudly, as I listened to Clarke tell the poor bailiff that she wouldn’t be swearing on a book she didn’t even believe in. 

“It’s honestly ridiculous that the court system still attempts to force Euro-Christian ideologies on people,” the blonde said to the judge with a roll of her eyes. 

When I looked over at the defense table, I saw the kid covering her mouth, trying to behave, while Lincoln looked like he just came down stairs on Christmas morning to the BB gun he asked for as an eight year old. 

“You probably just killed our case,” I growled at Indra, and I watched her sit up straighter. 

Her dark eyes narrowing at me, as she stated, “You’re the commander. If she’s guilty then no angry blonde will stop you from burying the kid in prison.”

My heart picked up tempo as I looked over at the kid. Her small stature was dwarfed even further by the huge desk before her.  _ Fuck! She’s just a kid. What am I doing? _ I tried to shake away the thoughts, and focus on the questions I had ready for Clarke Griffin. Law school 101, never ask a question you don’t know the answer to. Law school 101 part 2, don’t put a hostile witness on the stand. And the thing about Clarke Griffin was really there weren’t any questions that I could ask her without it being a doctor-patient confidentiality issues, and to make things better, the blonde was the literal definition of a hostile witness. Like I should record her in order to send to law schools to better demonstrate to people what a hostile witness was. 

Judge Wallace looked to me with an expression that was nothing less than amusement. The man had always been polite but his continuous use of that bloody nickname was just proof that he did not really approve of me or what I did. He cleared his throat, after allowing Clarke to say her peace. I thought he actually enjoyed her, which slightly annoyed me. I mean, we were technically supposed to be on the same side, the side that represented justice and the people of the community.

_ But the blonde clearly did too, _ and that knowledge irked me in a manner that was unconducive to this situation. 

With a nod to me, I approached the witness stand. Taking each step deliberately with a straight back, I eyed the jurors. They were enchanted by the woman in her button up, that was just a little too tight to button all the way. It was a struggle almost not to let my eyes wander downward to where the shades of cleavage were hinting just out from under the black camisole that she used to compensate for the fact that her shirt didn’t fit well enough to be buttoned all the way up. 

When I was halfway to the box enclosing Clarke, I looked up and finally met the angry storm brewing in her eyes. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. With a deep breath, I commanded, “Please state your name for the record.”

It took all of four seconds for the therapist to roll her eyes, and huffed out, “Clarke Eleanor Griffin. Not that you didn’t know already, and it hasn’t already been stated.”

Trying to ignore her additives, I asked, “Are you employed?”

“Yes,” she said curtly, and my brows rose. No extra snark in that answer. Maybe she was starting to take this seriously. 

Moving another step closer to the jury to draw their eyes away from her. Away from them getting to take her all in while I had to focus on why we were here. “Can you state and explain your profession to the court?”

Her posture changed, and a sense of pride seemed to fill her as her words came out with more passion than annoyance. “I’m a behavioral therapist for the youth at Ark Institute Behavioral Child and Teen Recovery. Basically, I help teenagers going through their trauma and problems with the medium of art and help them be reinstated in society,” at least until the last part,”which is exactly the opposite of your job.”

The judge turned his head to the woman, and with careful attention to his tone, only said, “Ms Griffin.”

As Clarke’s eyes turned to him I watched the creases of rage lessen just enough to seem sincere, “Sorry your honor.”

Wanting to take advantage of this Clarke, I asked, “How long have you been a therapist?”

But it failed as her emotion was again redirected at me in nothing but disgust. My bones ached a little at the simplicity that she could shift from kindness to a continuous anger always directed towards me. The way she seemed to place me at blame for the whole situation when I wasn’t the one that brutally murdered my step-father. She answered, “A little over three years... but I also interned for them during my under and postgraduate studies, making my total association with the institute seven years.”

I moved back towards my desk, asking over my shoulder, “Do you know who Ms Octavia Blake is?”

“If I didn’t would I be here?” and I could feel her eyes rolling like a petulant teenager.

Trying not to let her fluster me, I asked her, “Can you point her out for the court?” I turned in time to see the pale hand raise and a well manicured finger point to the girl sitting hunched over at the defense table. I hold up the file that I had my questions scratched out on, and flip through some pages, as I probed just for the basic information. A typical strategy to build the back story and get the witness accustomed to answering questions. “Did you come in contact with the accused outside of this courtroom?”

“Yes.”

“When did you first come in contact with Ms. Blake?” I knew the answer to this one at least, so it was not like I should’ve been flustered as she recounted the first interaction.

“Well first it was because you couldn’t be bothered to mind the rest of humanity when you swiped me with your over priced briefcase covering me in coffee, and the girl was kind enough to lend me a shirt so I didn’t look a mess when coming to this very courtroom to be dismissed from this very trial.” She paused and I was about to ask the next question, but she led right where I was going, “However, after being dismissed from the jury selection, I gave her my office number and suggested she reach the institute for consultation.”

I nodded, remembering the light perfume that I still longed to find again. “Right. And did she?”

“Yes.”

I closed the file and set it back on the table. Leaning back to rest against just the edge of the desk, “How many sessions did you have with Ms. Blake?”

“Only two,” she said, and her eyes wandered to the defense table. I followed her gaze to see the kid staring at the table. Putting Clarke on the stand was a mistake, but summoning her before she had actual time to get insight into her behaviors was even worse for us. Truthfully Clarke would not be much use to us, other than flustering most people in the room. The woman added to her statement, before I could even really process my next question, “You put me on your witness list after I told you I wanted nothing to do with this trial, well your side anyway. It was a major conflict of interest.”

“So you are saying you did want to participate in the trial, but in support of the defendant,” I asked, knowing that it was leading, but figured it would be helping Lincoln so he was doubtful to object. 

Clarke’s answer was quick though, leaving him minimal time to inferior before she got out what she wanted to say, “Yes, I could have probably provided more information to assist in determining Octavia’s mindset if I had been given more time to reach her. However, you ruined that just like you’re going to ruin her life for your career.”

_ Wait… what? _ I couldn’t understand how Clarke would know that this case would help build me to the next level as a prosecutor. And I once again didn’t even have a chance to process it all, as she spat out, “You’re not the only one that know how to use Google.”

Wallace’s voice was harsher this time. At least to me it sounded so, as he reprimanded Clarke. “Ms Griffin, I know what a passionate young woman you are. I let it slide so far because the Commander as she’s called is not easily flustered but for now on I will ask you to keep it to answering the questions, and only the questions.”

Clarke’s chin dropped some as she answered, “Yes your honor.”

I knew that I had given Clarke too much sway already. As I looked around the room, I saw my boss sitting towards the back. Her eyes hard on me, daring me to mess this up. I needed to get control of the room again. “And when did you meet Ms Blake professionally?”

Her tone was more cautious, and I could see Wallace focusing his attention on her. Almost like he was willing her to behave, which honestly seemed to be working. “She contacted me the evening of the jury selection and we set up the first session for the following week. The second session happened last Monday, and I received the summons notice on Tuesday, the phone call cancelling the further sessions on Wednesday.”

“Can you describe Ms Blake’s behavior during the first and second session?” I asked moving closer to Clarke now that she seemed less venomous, but the chair screeching behind me.

Lincoln’s heavy voice, called out, “Objection!” I turned to see him standing with an open palm pointed in my direction. “This question falls under the doctor/patient confidentiality oath.”

Wallace was nodding, and calmly stated, “Sustained, please rephrase.”

I wasn’t sure how to rephrase this question. If we had asked Clarke to do the consult for us then this never would have been an issue. Another reason to add as to why putting the blonde on the stand was a dumb move.  _ Fucking Indra.  _ “Did you raise any concern about Ms Blake’s behavior in your files?”

And again, “Objection.”

This time Wallace didn’t focus his attention on Clarke. The same tone though was angled at me in his disappointed father’s voice, “Ms Woods.”

“Yes, I understand, your honor.”

I turned back to Clarke, and her face had changed. Not angry, no it was like she was willing me to ask the right question. Ask the question that would help the kid, and I found one, “Ms Blake here is being trialed for first degree murder, would you say that the girl you saw in your office fits the charges?”

“No,” she said, and I could feel there was more. 

I stepped up to the thin barrier and found her scent immediately calming, well and arousing but I couldn’t go there then. Softly I asked, “Can you explain?”

Clarke bit her lip for a moment, and her eyes cast over to where Octavia was seated again. Gradually, she stated, “I’m under oath to protect the best interest of my client-”

“Former client,” I corrected, and immediately felt her withdraw. Kicking myself because she was about to give me something to work with and I knew I ruined the opportunity as she spat back at me. 

“That doesn’t nullify the confidentiality.” I felt the speckles of saliva graze my exposed flesh, and normally this would annoy me. But I asked for it. 

The room was deadly silent for a minute, everyone wanting to know what Clarke was holding. The information that would make it her helpful and less of a nonsense. But she crossed her arms over her chest, only really making her bust even more inviting to gaze down at. But I fought it. I fought the urge to fall under her spell.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I stated. I felt the flush rising, but I kept my mask poised. I was there to win a case for the murder of the middle aged man in his home. I was not there to be bent and used for the defense due to a pretty face with blonde waves. 

“Then ask me a question that matters and one that I can actually answer. Isn’t that what they pay you the big bucks for?” 

“Ms Woods, I will ask you to state your questions and refrain from engaging the witness,” Wallace directed me, and then to Clarke, “And, Ms Griffin, I thought I made myself clear.”

“What did I do?” she asked, her hands in the air towards me.”That was a legit answer. It’s not my fault she’s not doing her job.”

I was floored, as that bastard nodded to her, and stated to the rest of the courtroom, “We will be taking a fifteen minute recess to give the prosecution to remind  _ their  _ witness of court protocol as well as position themselves in an effective manner that does not waste the court’s time.”

~~~~~

Clarke was one of the fastest out of the room, but as she got to the back of the room she paused. She paused like she had seen a ghost. Like she had seen a ghost in my boss who was staring back at my witness. I wanted to say the pause was minutes, hours even, as I watched the blonde’s hands ball into fists and her back hunch over almost animalistic enough to suggest she would pounce in the manner in which her mythological surname demanded. But her feet carried her away just as quickly as she had stopped. 

It was unnerving seeing the woman who was clearly continuously flustered on a regular basis turn almost primal at meeting Nia. I was not sure what compelled me, but I left my stuff behind with Indra. Rushing after the booted feet that were carrying the blonde rather quickly to the only place I could guess was the bathroom. That was really the only place she could go on this floor. 

I opened the door slowly, hoping for the room to be unoccupied besides the woman I was pursuing. Irritation rose, as one of the jurors hurried out of the bathroom at seeing me.

Clarke was at the sink. Her hands gripped the counter with white knuckles, and she seemed to almost be hyperventilating. I reached out to comfort her, but I pulled back remembering that I was the enemy right now. 

“Clarke,” I started.

But she bit back, “Shut the fuck up, Lexa.”

_ Well that was uncalled for.  _ I held up my hands in the surrender position, and took a step forward. “Look, I didn’t-”

Her glare turned to me as the remainder of my sentence dissipated into thin air. I tried to open my mouth again, but nothing came out as I watched a single tear fall down her face leaving a darkened trail of eyeliner in its wake.

“Just.. I just need a minute,” she said, her risen hand that she held up to me shaking just enough that I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand by and watch her go through this alone, so two steps was all it took to take her in my arms and hold her as more tears began to fall. I shouldn’t have done this in public, and I knew that at any moment someone could have walked in on us. But none of that mattered, as Clarke’s head rested against my shoulder and her breathing slowly started to steady.

She told me with a tap that she was ready, and I reluctantly released her. I kept a hand on her arm, as her watery blue eyes looked at me with too many questions for words. There was nothing I could say besides, “I’m sorry.”

Turning back to the mirror, I lost the only connection I had to her. Her fingers came up and wiped under her eyes, smearing the remainder of her make-up to resemble war paint streaked across her face. Black and blue, as her eyeshadow followed the liner. It hurt to watch. It hurt to know that this was my fault… and fucking Indra’s.

“What can I do?” I asked.

She shook her head, dipping her hands under the stream that shot from the automatic faucet. Ten seconds of water that she cupped and splashed over her face. As the water dripped down, and she stared into her own reflection, she answered, “You have done enough.”

I huffed then. Resting my backside against the wet countertop, only to stare at the vacant stalls. I needed a plan. I needed something. But I couldn’t do it alone, so I tried again, “What can I ask you?”

Her body stiffened, and I couldn’t tell if she was about to attack me or run away again. She did neither though, her voice cracked and filled with everything I wanted to know about her seeping through the edges of her words. “What are you really hoping for, Lexa? You know that I am not going to just help you hurt her. Not like your boss.”

“My boss?”

Clarke didn’t answer though. She was still waiting for an answer to her question, and I knew I had met with Clarke enough times to know when she asked a question she wasn’t backing down. She reminded me of the Little Prince in that facade of a children’s book. 

“Contrary to your accusations, I really only want to protect society. I want to help Octavia but she is refusing to help herself. So what can I ask you to help her?”

Clarke didn’t move, her eyes searching herself it seemed for an answer. “Octavia is protected under the confidentiality clause because you never subpoenaed her records. You can ask me if I suspect abuse of any sort was taking place in the home. I am mandated to report it if she had told me that was taking place, but I can testify regarding if I suspected it had happened. You can ask me for my feeling regarding her behavior, but you cannot ask me what we talked about, what was done or what was said without a court order.”

I took her stance on the situation, and she kept adding more, “Wallace will not give you a subpoena now because he definitely never wants to see me on that stand again. I am sure I have pushed that man into losing at least three years of his life from my behavior.”

I snorted at her comment, because I had rarely ever seen Wallace irritated before, and between Clarke and myself we managed to ruffle his flat white hair pretty well. “Yeah, well… You were being an ass.”

She grabbed a paper towel and ran it under the water again. As she scrubbed at her face, she put her own mask in place. Turning to me, Clarke looked me in the eyes and stated, “There is way more to her story and I just want to know… did you ever see the house? The crime scene?”

My head tilted at the question, and I knew I shouldn’t tell her, but I nodded. 

“Was there like animals anywhere? Or clouds?”The question seemed odd, but Clarke tended to be a little odd and she was holding on to missing pieces of a puzzle that I was still just trying to put together the edges. 

I closed my eyes trying to remember the dank two bedroom house, and the narrow hallway that descended into the basement. The small basement. Almost too small. It was weird enough to have a basement in Arizona but it seemed like an after edition. 

My memory focused on the photos from the scene. The bloody clothes left in a pile with a stuffed gorilla whose head had been removed and tossed into a separate corner of the dank room, and a blanket with it. All things collected because there was blood covering the items. Not the victim’s according to the report, but the girl’s. The girl’s blood.

“There was a blanket… blue, like your eyes… and it had like animals in shapes of clouds,” I answered. Maybe it was too much information, but something flashed in the blue eyes staring back at me. 

“I need to go do something,” she answered, and before I could stop her, she had walked out of the room as though she wasn’t breaking down but five minutes ago. I tried to gather myself, but I couldn’t wash away the feeling that Clarke was on to something and she wouldn’t let me in. 

Knowing that I probably only had a few minutes left, I turned to look in the mirror. My white shirt had make-up smeared across the shoulder. Sighing I know there was no way to cover this besides letting me hair down. 

I pulled out the several pins and watched as my hair unfolded. I hated wearing my hair down in court, and I smirked for a minute wondering of this was Clarke’s pay back for ruining her shirt.  _ I should get her a new shirt _ . But I shook it away. That was just dumb. I shook my fingers through my hair, and was trying to smooth it out some when the tiny brunette stepped into the bathroom.

“Ohph,” Octavia said, her eyes went wide and dropped to the floor. Her hand pointed to the bathroom, and she said quietly, “I just… I… need to…”

She didn’t really finish, and her stuttering was unnerving. This kid killed a man and couldn’t tell me she needed to use the bathroom. It made the ache in me worse. 

I pulled my hair over my shoulder, and covered the marks. Slowly I turned, and faced the teen. She was still standing still like she was waiting for me to give her permission to move. I took my time looking her over though. Biting my lip slightly, I knew I shouldn’t engage her. But I really needed to know. I needed to know why.

“If you give her permission to, she can probably help you,” I said. I was not sure why, but it was really all I could tell her. 

Octavia shook her head, eyes still trained on the floor. Her posture pulled inward, like she was trying to make herself so small. “I don’t deserve to be free. I didn’t…” but she stopped. Just like the first time we spoke at the police station.

“If there was a reason-” but she cut me off. 

Her face sad as it rose to meet mine. The brightness gone, and nothing but sorrow coating her features. “I should have been stronger, and I wasn’t. I failed and there are consequences for failing. I am ready to pay for my failures, Ms. Trikru.”

The words hit me harder than if she had punched me in the stomach. And I knew then what Clarke was talking about. This kid was beaten. Trained to be submissive in the most cruel manner. To take blame for things that maybe she didn’t even have anything to do with. 

_ Abuse.  _

~~~~~

The courtroom was still buzzing with activity when I returned. I searched out the tiny blonde head and found her speaking with Bellamy. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at her. His face scarlet and I could tell he wasn’t happy about what Clarke was discussing with him.

Her hand reached across the short distance and she touched his arm. I would be lying if I didn’t feel my blood turning jade at the contact. I shouldn’t have feelings for the blonde, let alone hold some sense of ownership over her. But it was hard to shake, as the man nodded to Clarke. Her touch must have calmed him, like her scent seemed to do to me. And I didn’t like it. 

Nia stopped me before I could approach my witness again. Her steely hand held out in front of her body. I stood up straighter under her scrutiny. 

“Alexandria Trikru, when I hired you I thought I had seen the same fire that I look for in all my prosecutors at the State’s Attorney's Office. But today, you are proving how a disappointing choice I’ve made. You are the youngest junior prosecutor we’ve had and you’ve had a long winning streak since you’ve started, are you really going to let some mildly attractive blonde girl get you off your game and tarnish the name of the State’s Attorney’s Office by your clear inadequacy to break her and use her to win this case?

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to come up with an effective response. Because the truth was, I was about to blow this case. “Nia, I..”

Nia stopped me though, “If you fail to turn this around, I will be stepping in to complete this examination. And you will be sure to pack your office before the trial’s end.”

I glanced over to where Clarke was moving back to her seat in the juror’s box. This was one of those life changing moments that would definitely lead me down one path that was distinctly away from where I thought I would be. 

_ Becoming a prosecutor was always my dream. Upholding the justice system that made this country great was my passion. Putting an teenager in jail for something that may have been mostly justified… that wasn’t something I had ever considered as being on my list of to dos. But if I didn’t then all my goals and aspirations… all of the all nighters and the missed holidays to study for a case would be for nothing.  _

_ But… all of that work coming to a halt because I maybe did what was right. Maybe that was the new something. Maybe that was the path that may be harder. The path that less would choose. Maybe it made it worth it. _

_ Maybe she was worth it.  _

The problem was, I didn’t know which  _ she _ I was really thinking about anymore. The tiny brunette on trial or the blonde enchantress staring back at me. 

Turning back to Nia, I didn’t answer. I just nodded in affirmation that I had heard her. I nodded to tell her that I understood the conditions in which I was about to be fired. But she didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know that I was about to sink this case before she would ever get the chance to stop me. 

Wallace was calling for order, and I passed by Nia. I heard her heels clicking behind me, and realized she was following me to the prosecution table. Taking my seat, I watched Indra give our boss a side glance before meeting my eyes. Indra and I had been together for a long time. She was there for me when I first started, and I guess she would be there for the end. 

“Ms. Trikru are you ready to proceed?”

I cleared my throat, and prepared to end this battle. “Yes, your honor. We have only a few more questions to ask.”

Clarke’s hand shot up then, as though she were a kid in school. Wallace’s eyes narrow as he took in the action, and carefully asked, “This is not a long winded speech is it, Ms. Griffin?”

The blond waves shook lightly, and I watched the woman smile warmly. Her voice clear as she stated, “I just wanted to state that I have spoken with Octavia’s legal guardian and he has given me permission to divulge aspects of Octavia’s behavior during our sessions for this trial.”

Wallace looked over to Bellamy, who stood up at being referenced. “Is this true, Mr. Blake?”

Bellamy’s tone was gravely, but he stated, “Yes, Judge. I have given Clarke to discuss her perceptions of my sister’s behavior during their time together. She feels it may help some.” The courtroom came to life as though they were all corpses awaiting their second chance to walk to the Earth. 

Wallace’s hand up ceased most of the chatter, but when I turned I saw Nia’s angry eyes boring into me as she whispered to Indra. I didn’t have a choice any longer. It was time to bury myself, and be reborn. “Well then, let the record state that the guardian of Ms. Blake has granted to demolish the doctor patient confidentiality clause, thus allowing for Ms. Griffin to address the questions that both parties have.”

No more time. This is it. 

I look at Clarke and I nodded. I nodded to tell her that I was with her. The only thing I could hope for then was that she would understand. 

“Ms Griffin, in the light of this new development I will reiterate one of my former questions. Can you describe Ms Blake’s behavior during the first and second session? And will you explain how, as you’ve previously stated, said behavior doesn’t corroborate the character profile depicted in the police report?”

Clarke sat up straight, her face fresh and the rage present early replaced with an air of confidence. Her words were calculated but warm as she explained, “I have not seen the police report, however, I can address regarding the person that I came to know during our short interactions.”

Clarke’s hand came up and she bit her finger a little. She was thinking about every word before it came out, and I was seeing an entirely different person before me. Someone I wanted to know even more badly.

“Octavia is kind… thoughtful. Her mannerism and behaviors suggest that these actions come naturally for her, not in a manner of which she choreographies them, but genuine.” She paused and let this version of the girl sink into the jury’s vision. “She smiles and she jokes, but there is continuously this… how can I say… submission behind her every move. Almost unnatural at times. Like she wants to say something but as her mouth opens it closes only to retreat within herself.”

I stepped farther away from Clarke, letting her connect solely with the jury. 

“I only see these behaviors in abused children. Children and teens that have been broken into this form of submission, and I feel that Octavia’s behavior resembles a child that was not only abused but abused for long periods of time, and the only reason I am able to see even glimpses of her kindness is the love and devotion that is shown to her from her brother.”

_ Wow _ . 

Even I struggled to come up with words to follow Clarke’s description of the defendant. The girl that refused to aid in clearing her own name. I was not even certain how to ask a question that would get us to where Clarke could describe that understanding, but she went there on her own. 

Clarke hands were in the air as she became more animated with her discussion. “When the quote unquote normal person deals with conflict we usually follow our basic evolutionary reactions, we run, fight, or freeze. The difference with abused kids is that natural instinct is changed, and with Octavia we see when she wants to fight or play she freezes waiting for instruction. This type of action is displayed in her almost unnatural reactions as she starts but then stops, as though someone has altered her mannerisms through intense conditioning.”

I choked out, “Are you suggesting that Ms. Blake was being abused by her stepfather?” This was a question I would have avoided as a prosecutor, and objected to as leading the witness if the defense had asked it. But I was the prosecutor, and this could only help Lincoln, and he knew it. 

“With the mannerism and the fact that the strikes were mainly directed at the victim’s groin… yes, it is highly probable that Octavia was abused for long periods of time. Long enough to embed within her the sense of dread at acting out in fear of punishment. Due to her behavior in our sessions, I would suspect that Octavia has been abused for a course of several years, making her resolve to truly fight back dissipate. Rather accept her fate, like the person who would rather not say a word concerning the why she killed the man and take her punishment that the court deals out.”

I moved then towards the table, and I knew what I was about to do was going to hurt. It was going to hurt the teen that was facing the table again. I moved though and stood next to the girl. 

Looking at Clarke, I waved my hands violently in the air, and with a loud voice, stated, “So you’re saying the defendant would rather be in jail for murdering her potential abuser than stand up for herself,” and my hand collapsed on the table hard enough to send that echoing crack through the room. 

I didn’t have to turn to see the brunette's head fall to the table and her arms come up to shield her head. I didn’t have to watch as the kid went into instant defensive mode that was a crippling display of a child trying to hide from an impending blow but not move out of the range as other children or adults would. 

Clarke’s eyes watched the display that was just to the left of me, and with an visible gulp, she said, “Yes.”

The room quieted, as I left Octavia in Lincoln’s arms, and approached Clarke. The woman still watching the girl trying to put back her face of calm acceptance. I crossed the path and got as close to Clarke as I could. Drawing the blue eyes from the defendant to my own. 

“Ms. Griffin, did Octavia tell you why she murdered her stepfather?”

Clarke shook her head, but stated, “I think that she lost someone close to her as a result of her abuse and she blames herself.”

I could hear the chair moving, and I knew that Nia was on the rise, so I asked the last question, knowing that Clarke understood. Knowing that Clarke would answer it before Nia could stop her, “What makes you assume that when no other body was found? When Octavia Blake was found wandering the streets after changing her bloody clothes and leaving her stepfather to bleed out on their kitchen floor?”

“Your hon-” Nia’s voice rang.

Clarke cut her off though as she loudly proclaimed, “The painting she did in my office was that which you would find in a nursery.”

Everything went silent. 

I felt as though Clarke had taken the breath out of everyone, and nothing could shift or move until she breathed life back into them. And she did. Ever so carefully, Clarke Griffin returned the life into me and into Octavia and into the ball of fury of a brother that was red with rage. 

“Teenagers don’t paint nursery images unless they have a young child or are going to be a parent. When the image became clear…” Clarke paused for a moment, her eyes glassed over like she was trapped in her own memory, “Octavia ruined it with the darkest color on her palette. With the darkness as though swallowing up this one life she gave hope and love to.If the photos of the crime scene are examined carefully, I believe it will reveal that this house was subtly being prepared for a new addition; that in fact Octavia was carrying a child before the death of her step-father. ”

Clarke looked into my eyes, and stated, “I believe that Ms. Blake feels responsible for the loss of the child and that would explain the intense blood loss she sustained. It would explain why she feels responsible enough to surrender her life to imprisonment. She feels guilty, but not for the death of the man that took away her child.”

I watched as Clarke’s lower lip disappeared between her startlingly white teeth. My mind reeled with the information that Clarke had been stirring with. Yes, it was entirely assumptive, but the weight of Clarke’s words were falling on the heads of everyone present. The weight that this girl was on trial for the murder of her long term rapist, too ashamed to stand up for herself. 

Nia’s voice rang a shrill cry from her standing position behind me, as I mouthed a simple ‘Thank you.’ The blonde nodded just slightly allowing herself a moment to regain her own composure. “This is outrageous assumption. Clearly the words of this girl cannot bear weight in this court.”

Wallace’s voice thundered against my bosses, as he shut her down, “Ms Quinn, you have not been given the right to speak up, even less against your own side.” Apparently he liked her even less than he liked me. His voice directed at where I stood bracing myself against the witness stand railing and taking in the craftsmen’s work that went into creating Clarke Griffin. “Ms Trikru, will you sort this out with your partners please if you are done with the witness.”

I turned and smiled at the judge, “Yes, your honor. No further questions your honor.”

Wallace’s smile was subtle, but I could tell that at least him and I were on the same page. The gavel fell lightly on the desk, as he stated, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we will reconvene with the cross examination of Ms. Griffin tomorrow morning at 10 sharp.”

I walked with determined steps. Each click like the nail going deeper into the coffin of what I knew now was my former employment. I wouldn’t let that stop me from walking with head held high towards the desk where awaited me a very angry Nia. 

If looks could kill, I would already be bleeding out on the polished floor of this court room. But to my surprise, the look I thought was directed at me was instead focused on the blonde I felt moving behind my back. As she passed by me, I saw her throw a smirk at my boss who clenched her fists and visibly seethed with the gesture. I knew I had thrown the case but clearly there was more at play here than just the trial of a victim. I didn’t know what it was but I sure as hell was determined to find out. 

And with that in mind, Nia firing my ass didn’t appear as dramatic as it should be. I mean I was not only throwing the case but tanking my career as well, sending it back a few years to achieve what I was so close to. But if such setback meant getting to know who the mysterious Clarke Griffin was and saving a girl from a wrongful fate, then all of this mess wouldn’t be such a waste. So I walked the last few feet that separate me from my soon-to-be former boss and reached for my personal items. As I was about to get my briefcase, Nia stopped me by grabbing my wrist and squeezing it with too much force to be an insignificant power display.

She snarled in a hushed tone, as she stated, “Don’t think that I don’t know what you just did. You will remain by Indra’s side for the rest of this trial. You will not move, you will not speak and you will certainly not address the witness nor the accused ever again. You will watch as your unprofessionalism will be deconstructed. That girl will be condemned and you will watch as it happens.” I stared her down, as she further explained, “This will be your last case with us as a prosecutor and any other firm you wish to pursue. Yu gonplei ste odon, Leksa.”

_ Your fight is over. _

I knew the words were old legal shorthand, but the meaning was not lost. Nia wasn’t just focused on ruining my career, but ruining the lives of everyone in this room. And the only thing that really irked me, was why.


	4. Get it together

**~Clarke~**

Heavy pages turned with ease as I picked up the dark bottle. The only way I could manage to look through the newspaper clippings from my father’s trial was when my blood was heavy and slow. Really it was probably too early to be this buzzed, however the ghosts of the past’s voices seemed to be bursting through the cobwebs. Each burst causing the builders to crawl under my skin. Making me itch.

Itching becoming almost unbearable, to the point that the bottle became the only alternative to clawing at my skin. Tearing away the flesh like Tris used to do. The way she would tear and pick at herself to find the ants she swore were in her veins whenever she was floating from the white powder.

Bubbly brew burned as I tipped the bottle back to take in the last of the amber beer. The thicker the better, after all Echo trained me right. Glancing up, I looked over the photo of the three of us. Twenty years old, and closing up the bar when the photo was taken.

The couch is practically swallowing me in its worn cushions. The only item that I was able to rescue from my childhood home before my mom let the donation crews come in and seize the rest. Just like she let the cops seize my father, and then me. Washing away her life before us on item at a time.

Husband gone. Check.

Daughter gone. Check.

Furniture gone. Check.

House gone. Check.

All so she could hook up and create her own stability. Her own life with Marcus Kane and his two little girls that called her mommy. The family she chose. No place for the past. No place for me in her new family. So I made my own. My own family of delinquents. Afterall, Kane couldn’t have a delinquent for a step-daughter with his “promising political poll outlook.”

Twisting my neck, several cracks ran down the length. The realignment eased the tension in my shoulders, and I flipped the page once more. The dark background standing out against the colored photo that accompanied the black and white newsprint. The last photo of my father taken alive. The last day he saw the light of day, or smelled fresh air.

I studied the photo for the nine billionth time. The way cameras and microphones encompassed every inch of space around him, as they led him down the courthouse steps. Away from the same steps that I had been called to for Octavia’s trail. The same building that swallowed him up until there was nothing left. Nothing left after they escorted him from the building, and another car crashed into the secured vehicle. The secured vehicle that went over and partially through the cement ledge, off the freeway overpass, and crashed into the pavement below.

Running my finger over the thin plastic film over his face. The face I never got to say goodbye to. My hand came off the page, and I tried to squeeze away the impending headache or tears. Either sucked, and I didn’t want to deal with it.

I picked up my empty bottle, and struggled against my desire to throw it against the fireplace. My eyes falling back to the photo, to where the ice bitch stood with the man that was supposed to be his friend. Supposed to be Dad’s best friend, standing with the now District Attorney’s hand in clasped in his. The way the two watched as Dad was led away.

Hatred boiled the buzzing fluid within, and my stomach churned. Pushing the book from my lap, I made my way down the hall. My knees hitting the cold hard tile as my chest emptied, and esophagus opened to let all the alcohol seek its revenge on its way back up. Head too far into the bowl for comfort, the backsplash hitting me over and over again, but I didn’t have the strength to fight it back. To fight my body to stop rejecting the home remedy.

My legs shook when I tried to lean back. Giving out so my body collapsed against the wall of the guest bathroom. The bathroom for the people that didn’t actually exist. The visitors only spirits of regret and memory that haunted my lonely life.

My pocket vibrated, and it took a moment for me to realize that my phone was still buried in the white cotton lining. I had to shift to pull it out, but the unfamiliar number flashed on the lock screen.

“I need to talk with you - L.”

I read it twice. It had to be Lexa. There was really no one else that would have my personal cell number. But why was she contacting me was the startling part. I mean, Lexa was done with me. Octavia’s lawyer would question me the following day, thus no reason to meet with Lexa. Not to mention, I had three more beers and a sleeping pill to make it a quiet sleep filled night.

Hitting my thumbs to the screen, I answered, “I can meet with you at my office following court tomorrow.”

Reaching up I slid the phone over the counter to safety, and pulled my body up. The water came out from faucet and I tipped my head down to wash out my mouth straight from the tap. As I spat the cold wash water back out, the phone danced against the counter.

I didn’t really care what she had to say.

~~~~~

_“Griffin. Clarke Griffin, step forward.” A stalky bleach blonde with spiky hair called. Her gray uniform clung unkindly to her squarish frame, but at least she sorta smiled when she took my hands with the silver metal, clasping them together, and scanned the ID band on my left wrist. I wish I would have gotten this guard’s name, but I didn’t learn until a few minutes later that it would have been on the badge hanging off her pocket. “You will from this point forward be referred to as either your last name or your ID. Which is: Inmate A-317.”_

_I nodded to her, and somewhere in her eyes I felt the humiliation building as pity was the only thing she seemed to have for me. Like maybe this guard knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong. That I was a good girl. That I was a straight A student. That I was a cheerleader. That I tried to make something of myself in this life, but now it was gone._

_Standing on uneasy legs, I watched several other girls before me being called one by one to step past the red line. Past the grills fitted desk that stood before the door and crossed over the threshold that marked the boundary between incarceration and freedom. Disappearing into a new reality that was too tangible now._

_I didn’t know what to expect on the other side of the line. I mean, I had seen so many prison movies that my knees were shaking. My hands were shaking. And the cuffs around my wrists connected to the chains around my waist were rattling slightly.  I expected anything and everything, up to the thorough body search._

_I was the last one in line. The only person behind me was the same female guard. I didn’t need to look back. Her eyes were scanning me. Very quietly, she said, “I read about you and your father.” My chin fell lower, and my chest was heaving. I pleaded with my body not to cry. That it would show me as weak to the girl with tight braids looking back at me._

_Cold toned words shifted the air as the same guard barked to the girl before me, “Eyes forward inmate.” The girl shifted and faced forward once more._

_The guard didn’t speak again until the other girl was taken past the line. Past the line and into the room. Only then did she say, “Once called, you’re going to be searched and processed. They will issue you new clothes and some bedding. You will watch as they close up your personal belonging in a sealed bag that you will receive when you leave.”_

_I didn’t turn to look at her. I didn’t want to get yelled at too._

_So instead, I said, “Thank you.”_

_“You’re too pretty,” came from behind me. The guard’s body heat impeding my personal space, so my neck tightened, shoulders squared, legs locked up, and tears started to well. Every nerve on edge. Her breath was too close, and oniony rot invaded my nose and mouth. “Don’t shower for a few days. Make it less of an appeal, because there are girls... and others that would enjoy something as soft as you look.”_

_She backed up, just as I heard the harsh female voice called out, “Inmate A-317.” At the call of my name, I took two steps forward and did what all before me did, I stopped in front of yet another nameless guard with toffee skin and strict bun. Uniform too tight. I stopped, waiting to be taken deeper within the room._

_When I was ushered forward and my cuffs were removed, I rubbed at my wrists. She told me to strip, so I peeled away the fitted black dress with sensible neckline, revealing my barely developed body. I reached back to unhook my bra, but the guard stopped me with just the word, “Enough.” I guess being an underage criminal had its perks since they avoided the probing within me, like Orange is the New Black had trained me to believe would happen. No just rough hands running under my bra, which I was allowed to turn away when they handed me a white sports bra, because underwires were prohibited. They had me remove the butterfly panties and provided me with the replacement white briefs. Only requiring me to bend so they could check my butt crack and lower lips for anything hidden._

_I was handed a pair of heather grey sweat pants, slide on sandals, and a basic white t-shirt that hung off of me. It was oddly comforting because it was like the type of undershirts my dad would wear when he was home working in the yard or unclogging my bathroom drain._

_Watching carefully, the guard folded my belongings up and put them in a plastic bag that she then pulled the strip away from the glue and sealed. As simple as that they stripped me of who I was by taking all the personal items, making me just another member of the juvenile delinquent community. As though being dragged out the courtroom and down the stairs of the federal building wasn’t humiliating enough. I guessed it was part of the whole experience to make me reconsider my life choices. But for someone like me who had been trialed and found guilty wrongfully, it was even more terrifying. The only thought left was to consider: What kind of people would I find behind these walls?_

~~~~~

I picked up the phone and read the next message. Needing a distraction from my memories. Something to get Nia and her destruction on my life from my head.

“No, private. Tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. _If she thought that we were having dinner tonight, she had to be shitting me._ The next texts came through though, and I was not sure why but I felt the need to agree.

“My boss kicked me off the case, and is going to continue with the prosecution.”

_Fuck!_

I returned to the living room.

Glancing around, there was nothing I could do in here but destroy things. I didn’t want to have to clean up the mess, but my nerves were and fire, and senses fired. Too much had happened. Too many echoes from the past. _Echo._

Looking down, I see the black Steven Madden combat boots were still laying haphazardly next to the coffee table. I grabbed on and started to force my foot into the boot that was just a size too big. A size too big because they were actually Tris’. Not mine. Echo and Tris. The only family I had after I crossed over the red line towards my new life.

~~~~~

_Once changed, photographed and badged, I walked in the line following the other girls with my bundle of new belongings. A pillow in my outstretched hands, with the folded sheet and blanket atop. A spare change of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste and a bar of soap._

_I wouldn’t have to worry about washing my hair and looking clean. They didn’t give me any shampoo. It would take only two days before my normally wavy blonde hair became oily and dangled around my face._

_I kept my head down, embracing that Inmate A-317, Griffin wearing grey and white was who I was now and would be for the next two years. Looking only at the floor and the girl before me, socked and sandaled feet, were how I knew when to walk and when to stop. Telling myself to keep my head down. That I didn’t want to trigger the wrong person with just a glance._

_The feet stopped after we trekked down the grey bricked hallway. The girls were separated. Me and the one that had been glaring at me when we were still on the freedom side of the red line, were handed over to an older girl in a yellow shirt. Dark hair twisted and braided back from her face, standing upright, stared at each of us, before grunting and turning to walk away. She looked absolutely intimidating, maybe because of the stone cold face that I saw in the hallway mirrors as we passed through. Or maybe it was the tattoo that peaked through her t-shirt along her neck. My eyes getting older. Desperate to grasp hold of something. She walked swiftly, stopping at one area and pointing within. The girl before me walked into the space. I went to follow but my guide held up her hand stopping me. “We’re in the next bunk over.”_

_It wasn't until she stood before the half walled bunk area that I caught a glimpse of her name badge clipped to the pocket at her breast. Echoanopolis. Ek-o-an-o-lips, I tried internally. I was studying the badge trying to make sense of the phonics, when her hands followed over her chest._

_I glanced up into her dark eyes, to see her glaring at me. Standing several inches taller, and biceps pronounced. Her clipped tone matched the click of her boots against the concrete floor. Her steps backing me into the wall, until my back hit the wall. “Keep your eyes off other chicks’ tits if you don't want them thinking you want them in your bunk after lights out. Unless you are trying to give me an invitation,” her fingers coming out to run over my exposed forearm. Soft tips that barely danced over my skin._

_I… No, there were not thoughts that could process what she had just told me. Whispering, I answered, “No… sorry...I was trying to read your name.”_

_Her caress ended, and arms returned over her chest tighter, and she stared right at me. Eyes measuring me for something that I was sure I was failing. Then, simply, “Just Echo.”_

_She backed up, and let me enter the ten by twelve space. Ever since I entered this place handcuffed and humiliated, directly sent to prison after my expedited trial, I didn’t bother looking around much, at least not at the figures of authority that let me down when they were supposed to protect me. But this was my new home. If juvenile detention could be a home._

_A full wall on one side with two bunks stacked on top of each other. The other side of the space a single bunk, with a bed already made up. Perfect folded corners and pillow atop. With an extended finger, Echo pointed to the single bed, and used a single word to establish ownership, “Mine.”_

_Looking at the bunk beds, I saw the smaller girl rising from where she laid to sit on the edge. Her feet tapping as she scratched at her skin. Arms covered in red welts from where her blunt nails scraped at her flesh. She looked like she was dying to say something, but was holding it back._

_The top bunk above the girl was empty. A four inch blue plastic mattress bare laid atop the metal sheet, with triangular metal ends securing it to the wall. No guard rail, so if I rolled off the bed I would hit the cement. Hard._

_Pointing up at the bed, I asked Echo, “Mine?”_

_She nodded, and moved to her own bunk. Picking up a tattered book. Black with red lettering. I had read the book last summer. It was good. I hoped that when she finished it, maybe it would give us something to talk about. Though Echo didn’t seem like someone to really talk much._

_The girl on the lower bunk got up then. Her sense of personal space clearly underdeveloped as she wrapped her arms around me. Her thin arms that were just as long as mine, but seemed weaker. However, it was stimulation overload, and I worried that Tris was laying claim on me._

_The problem was, I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know who she was or why she was here. What if she was a serial murderer? She backed up some though, her hands still holding my arms as she smiled broadly at me. Smiled like we were old friends, or distant cousins._

_“I’m not... looking to get into you bed,” I said with a minor stutter._

_Echo snorted, then. But the girl dropped her embrace, her head tilted to the side as she studied me. Eyes squinted some. “Don’t sweat sweet cheeks, you’re one of us now,” Echo stated, and then pointed to the girl. “Tris meet Griffin. Griffin, Tris.” She paused for a minute, her eyes returning to her book before she added, “Tris is a hugger. I tried to tell her to stop it, but needless to say, she still hugs strangers. Drugs must have fired the ‘stranger danger’ mode in her brain.”_

~~~~~

I picked up the phone, once the boots are secured to my feet. Running my fingers through my hair, I ordered an Uber. The estimated time is fifteen minutes, so I sent another message to Lexa.

“Meet me at Echo’s Escape. 45 minutes.”

I am not sure why I chose Echo’s. I hadn’t been there in months. Not sense she took the glass from my hand and told me I need to get my shit together. Told me that as a therapist, I should know when I need to see a therapist.

_Echo._

Flipping the switch on the wall, I exit the apartment. I come face to face with the empty apartment that my reclusive neighbor used to live, but is now completely empty. I won’t lie, I kind of missed the hermit person whose hair was dark just like Lexa’s. Sure the genderbending person in boyfriend baggy jeans was hot, but they were so reserved that I just wanted to shake them and tell that that they were free. To not lock themself away in their apartment, when they were free.

I glanced back at my own door, and shook my head in dismay. Realizing that I was no better. Creating my own isolated cell. Withdrawing from my one friend. The only family I had left. While even my former neighbor had left. Left with what looked like two kids, after several days of the blonde they had on their arm screaming and pleading for more.

Travelling down the three flights of stairs, I decide that I need to stop this. I was twenty-six years old. Twenty six years old still worried about what someone would think about me and where I had been when I was a kid.

Getting into the backseat of the Sonata, the thin woman glanced back and sort of smiled. “Echo’s?” She confirmed, adn I nodded. My head leaning back against the seat.

Closing my eyes, I tried to argue that it was time for me to stop looking at myself like a fucked up teen. I can’t though, my memories winning the battle.  I wasn’t a teen when we took the job that had her using again. I wasn’t a teen when Echo had to rescue us again.

~~~~~

_I toed at the gravel parking lot, looking over the outside of the building while I waited for Tris. She had to work this afternoon, and I knew that Fridays were always busy at the club. It was part of the reason I did not like to work on Fridays. The rush hour on payday, as skeezy guy after skeezy guy came in to shove singles into our panties as we stared blankly at them, rubbing our bare breasts over their faces and pretending to hump them. Grinding our thong covered cunts into their weak excuses for manhoods._

_Tris needed the money though._

_Since Echo had been gone, I couldn't help her fight away her loneliness. I couldn’t help her fight the readily available powder that made stripping for strangers a little more tolerable. A little easier to feel not as dead inside. At least that was how she justified it._

_The outside of the bar was dingy. Wooden vertical panels running up the sides to a large neon sign above the door. The sign of an old friend. “Echo’s Escape.” The words too familiar, too close still. The way the older girl would tell us of her dreams. Tell us of her plans to open an all girl’s bar in the middle of downtown Phoenix. And she did it. She did what Tris and I couldn’t seem to figure out. She made her dreams come true._

_A beat up pick up truck pulled up in front of the bar. I didn’t recognize it. Just the blonde puffy curls in the passenger seat that bounced from the truck as soon as it stopped. A greasy baritone came from the truck, that had Tris turning on her slippered feet. Without a second thought, she slipped her thumbs under the base of the tight tank top and yanked it upward. Putting her breasts on display for the dude that gawked at her until she pulled the shirt back down._

_“Can I take you home?” he begged._

_She didn’t answer though. Instead walking over to me, and pressing a wet kiss to my lips, before turning just her head to call back, “Sorry but her pussy is the only thing I want cumming all over me.” Shaking my head, I put my arm around her waist, and pressed another kiss to her lips as I held up my middle finger._

_“Fucking dykes!” He yelled, and spun his tires in the gravel before peeling off the curb and back into the sheet._

_Letting her go, I saw the blood shot in her eyes. I wanted to yell at her. Tell her that was stupid and putting us both in danger of him trying to show us how much of a man he really was, but she was floating too high in the clouds._

_“Missed you, Princess,” she said with a lightness that only she could achieve after smoking with Charlotte in the back of the club. She tugged on my hand, and drug me forward towards the doorway._

~~~~~

Echo’s parking lot was crowded, and I barely avoided getting hit by a Tesla that pulled in front of the building before slamming on the brakes. I started to wait for the driver to get out to chew them out, but the passenger’s door opened and closed, and I heard some girl screaming another chick’s name and begging to be fucked. Figuring it was a fruitless pursuit, I went inside to wait for Lexa.

If the parking lot was crowded, the bar was close to overcapacity. I saw Echo looking over a hot blonde at the bar, that looked almost like my doppleganger. Honestly, it was kinda creepy, so I hung back for a minute as a huge cheer broke out and I saw familiar faces of the Phoenix Mercury entering. Women of all shapes and sizes swarmed the players, leaving a clear path to where Echo was leaning over the bar glaring at one of the players behind me. I started to move forward as a dark haired girl pushed past me, hitting me with her shoulder like my presence in her path was inexcusable.

“Fuck you too,” I answered her assault, but either she didn’t hear me or didn’t care to acknowledge that I yelled at her.

Echo took her order, and her credit card. Handing over two long neck bottles, Echo told her, “Try to keep your bitch on a leash tonight, Cos.”

Cos glanced back at three players posing for photos, and said with a pained voice, “She’s only looking for one tonight. Hopefully it will be quick and we can get out of here.”

“No trouble, Cos. I mean it. I’ll call the cops this time. I don’t care who the fuck she thinks she is,” the warning dripping from Echo’s voice. The same way she used to tell Tris that if she didn’t get clean she would fire her ass.

I knocked into the back of the woman as I pushed against the bar. Facing my old friend. The closest thing I had to a sister next to Tris. The corners of Echo’s eyes softened, as she leaned forward, and told me, “Fucking player, the MVP for the WNBA comes in just to find a new chick to break. It’s sick the way she thinks that women are just disposable.”

I reached over and touched her hand. Tucking my fingers under her hand, and squeezed lightly. “I miss Tris too.”

Echo shook her head, and her eyes wandered over to my doppleganger. The blonde in purple leaning against the dance floor. I followed where the woman was looking, and found her locked in on the basketball player that Echo was concerned about. Tapping Echo’s hand, I told her, “Give me two whiskeys straight, and then go take care of the girl. I know Anya will understand.”

She nodded, and pulled a bottle from the top shelf. Glancing up, she asked, “Did you uber here?”

“Yep.”

Nodding again, she poured the glasses heavy and handed them over to me. I didn’t bother reaching for my card. I knew she wouldn’t let me pay. Before I could even say bye, echo was around the bar and headed over to take the hand of the girl that just wanted to dance.

I watched from where I stood, when a hand came up to rest on my lower back. I glanced up to see Lexa standing alongside me, and I nodded a hello. My eyes returning to where Echo had led the blonde to the dance floor.

I felt Lexa tense, and she asked, “Do you know her?”

Looking back at Lexa, I squinted a little. Deciding how to answer, I realized I didn’t know who she was talking about. “The blonde? No.”

“No, the bartender,” she clarified.

“She’s like my sister,” I answered, and handed Lexa the glass. She looked down at the coppery liquor. Nodding to the back, I signalled her to follow me. Which she did. Pushing our way through the crowd that was still ogling the women that stood at least a head over most of the crowd. Each with a girl on their arm or crotch as they swayed to the hip hop music.

We made it outside to the mostly vacant patio. The plastic tables and chairs set up, as the smoke from the few groups filled the air. Lexa choked some, but held in most of her retching as we took a seat. She sat awkwardly straight in her chair, and I could tell she was uncomfortable as her eyes scanned over the tight space.

Patience drained, along with half of my glass as we sat in silence, I broke the ice. “So… we had to meet tonight. What do you need Lexa?”

A skinny blonde moved from table to table, and paused at ours. “Y’all need another drink?”

Lexa cleared her scratching throat, and said, “No, thank you.”

I glanced down at my glass, and weighed if I would need another round. I didn’t want to get plastered, so I just requested, “Can I get a Guinness?” The girl turned to leave, but I stopped her. “Also, don’t let Echo know it’s for me Charlotte, or she won’t let me pay for it.”

She smiled weakly, and answered, “Sure thing, Clarke.” Before moving, she turned back, “I’m clean. I just wanted you to know.”

Pushing the weak chair back, I stood and pulled her into me. My hand coming up to the back of her hair and holding her close. Holding her in the way I wished I could still hold Tris. Quietly, I answered, “I’m proud of you. And Tris would be too.”

I released her, and turned back to the table. Lexa’s head was down with wide eyes as she stared at the table. _What the fuck is wrong with her?_ This wasn’t the Lexa I was used to seeing. Not the person that could run a courtroom like a boss, looking hot as fuck in her tight dress pants and perfectly fitted button up.

“What’s the deal, Lex? Your face is as pale as my ass,” I told her, hoping to lighten her mood. It didn’t work though. Not as her eyes rose and it was like she had seen a ghost of something. Reaching across the table I tried to take her hand, but she pulled back. Sitting further into her chair.

I was so lost, but I couldn’t really process Lexa or her crazy behavior that really needed some analysis. Not when the music cut out, and something crashed inside. I was up from my chair, but steady hands had me. Had me and were pulling me back to the edge of the patio area. At the edge, until my back was against the chain link fence, and her body was pressed back into me. Face towards the door. Like she was protecting me from whatever was happening inside.

I tugged at her and tried to move her, but she didn’t budge. Just said, “No, Clarke. You don’t need to be involved in a bar fight.”

Sirens sounded wildly. The lights flashing through the fence, where Lexa had me blocked into. I pushed her again, and she gave up this time. Turning to me. Her eyes wild, as she said, “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t risk you-”

“Getting into trouble?” I provided. “Why, Lex? You worried I’ll lose credibility on the stand? What the fuck is going on?”

Lexa’s eyes scanned over me, but she turned as Echo’s voice boomed, “You’re a fucking rapist!” Lawyer Lexa flipped around in time to see my sister storming through the patio. Her eyes already angry and lower lip split. A small trail of blood coming from the inside of her mouth.

Echo had been in several fights. I had seen Echo take out a number of chicks in juvie, and even more trying to start trouble in her bar. Especially when a few customers got a little handsy with me or Tris. But as her eyes fell on Lexa, I saw a new level of rage surface.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” She yelled. The other occupants of the space quickly clearing, as Echo stormed towards us. Tossing a plastic chair out fo the way, as the leg splintered and sent plastic flying through the air.

I pushed Lexa out of the way, and took position between my sister and the assistant district attorney. Holding up my hands to stop Echo. Her body halting as my hands curved around her arms and held her in place. “What’s going on, E?”

Her wild eyes turned to me, and she gestured inside. “That WNBA rapist just tried to assault that blonde I was dancing with earlier, and now I come outside and I see you with her.” Her hand coming up, shaking away my hands. A finger pointed over my shoulder and in Lexa’s face.

Echo’s breath hot and panting in my face, as she growled, “You have no business in my bar, let alone with my sister. You already fucked up our lives enough, and I won’t have you killing the only family I have left.”

_Wait... what?_

**Author's Note:**

> COMMENT! Please! Kudos! Even more please!


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